


Comfort

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-13
Updated: 2004-11-13
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Xander turns up on Giles' doorstep. Things happen.





	Comfort

He'd only been out of the room long enough to make them some tea--or rather, to make himself a cup of tea, and get Xander a Coke, because Xander refused to believe that tea was fit to drink unless it came in a bottle with 'Snapple' on the label--but when Giles came back into the living room, Xander had fallen asleep where he sat, snoring quietly but unmistakably, his head tipped back to rest against the back of the sofa at what must have been an uncomfortable angle. 

"Xander?" Giles said, softly, but when there was no reply, he decided that Xander probably needed his rest, after the journey here from Africa. He set the glass down on the table next to Xander, in case he wanted it when he awoke, and then stood there for a moment, considering his options. He could retire for the evening--but it was only half past seven, and his bedroom wasn't particularly inviting. 

Apart from the kitchen, there was nowhere else for him to go. His London flat was rather small--he had purposely taken a less than ideal flat, as a reminder to himself that this was only temporary; when he'd wrapped up the remnants of Council business that were keeping him here, he planned to relocate the Council, such as it was, to Bath, where he'd feel more at home--and where he'd already established the training centre for the new Slayers, with Faith and Robin Wood in charge. This was temporary.

Of course, his entire life had been temporary for eight years or so now, and he still had a tendency to get set in his ways, so he wasn't sure how much good a reminder would do him. All it was doing for him right now, he thought, as he sat down, quietly, in the wing chair near the front window, was leaving him without a spare room when Xander returned from Africa--with no luggage, no warning, and no Slayers in tow--and announced, when Giles opened the door, that he quit. 

They'd barely begun to discuss the matter before he'd gone into the kitchen to make the tea. It had been nearly eighteen months since they'd left the hole in the ground that used to be Sunnydale, and Xander had spent most of that time in Africa, seeking out new Slayers. They'd spoken, of course--every two weeks, by telephone, and Xander had come back last April with a couple of Slayers too young for him to feel comfortable putting them on a plane by themselves. Giles remembered thinking that the younger man had looked tired, then--but they all looked tired, these days. They all were tired. 

Xander looked more than tired, now; he looked worn to the bone. He'd lost all the extra weight he'd picked up over the last couple of years in Sunnydale, and then some, and lack of sleep had left dark smudges underneath his eye. If this had been the first time he'd seen Xander, Giles would have been forced to guess that he was several years older than his actual age--thirty, or perhaps even a bit more than that. The last time he'd seen Buffy, she'd almost seemed the girl he'd first met, again--wiser, more serious, but without the burdens she'd carried over the past few years. It seemed she'd handed them over to Xander without anyone realizing it. 

And Xander, who'd been doing excellent work in Africa, who'd assured Giles twice a month that all was well and there was nothing he needed, was quitting. The one thing he'd made clear in their discussion so far was that he couldn't be persuaded to stay.

Giles supposed, of all of them, Xander was the most able to slip back into "normal" life. He'd been a Watcher for longer than the others had been alive, Buffy's only non-Slaying work experience had been at a fast-food restaurant, Willow hadn't been able to finish school… but Xander could go back to the States, anywhere he chose, and find work. And he'd given enough. No one could say he hadn't done his share of saving the world--and he'd paid more of a price than the rest of them, and received less in return. 

Giles should wish him well, assure him that the Council funds were sufficient to give him enough to establish himself wherever he wanted, and tell him he would be missed. What he shouldn't do was use this time while Xander slept to think of reasons why Xander shouldn't go, why they needed him more than he needed to leave. It was selfish, and it was unfair--and it was unthinkable that he would do otherwise, if Giles were honest with himself, because this was Xander, and knowing Xander was in this with him--even if he were thousands of miles away, even if their only contact was a brief telephone call, less than half an hour, every fourteen days, and most of it about business--made it easier to get through the day. 

They were all tired, he thought, or perhaps it was just the two of them. 

Xander stirred, and Giles looked up--but he wasn't waking up, apparently, just moving in his sleep, murmuring fitfully. Quietly, so that if he hadn't been watching Xander's face, he wouldn't have realized how distressed Xander was, and Giles had to wonder how one learned to be quiet in the grips of a nightmare, and think, not for the first time, that the elder Harrises had much to answer for.

"It's all right, Xander. You're only dreaming," he said, but if the words or his tone had got through to Xander, there was no sign of it. He got up from his chair then, coming a bit closer to the sofa. "You're all right," he repeated, sitting down next to Xander. "Wake up."

Xander's eye opened, although he still didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings, and Giles was about to retreat a bit, letting him collect his dignity, when Xander, obviously still more than three-quarters asleep, reached out to him. 

Clung to him, to be strictly accurate; before Giles realized it--and certainly with no conscious knowledge that he was doing it--Xander had wrapped his arms around Giles, his face pressed against Giles' shirt. Like a child waking up from a bad dream, Giles thought, and if he was only too aware that Xander was no child, that was his own problem and none of Xander's. 

"It was only a dream," he said, softly, not pushing Xander away. Xander turned slightly, his face pressed hotly against Giles' neck, and Giles found himself putting his arms around Xander in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Awkward, it certainly was, although only Xander was here to see his unease, and Xander wouldn't care how awkward the gesture was, as long as the gesture was made. He was still sleep-fogged, and when he woke up, he would let go of Giles, and they'd both be slightly embarrassed, but that was unavoidable. 

He couldn't turn his back on Xander. Not when he'd been doing that for so long, and it had never done them any good. 

And then, unexpectedly, it was Xander's mouth pressed against his neck; it could have been mere chance, almost, except for the rather damp, feverish kisses being left against his throat. Giles sat frozen, for a moment; this wasn't happening. There was simply no way that this could be what it appeared to be. "Xander..."

Xander looked up at him then, and Giles realized that he was awake, or at least mostly awake. "Don't," he said, in a somewhat shaky voice. 

Giles let go of him, then, retreating slightly to his end of the couch. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

He shook his head, quickly; he was looking more alert now, and Giles wasn't sure whether that would make the conversation easier or merely more uncomfortable. There was silence for a moment, while Xander sipped at the glass of Coke, and then he asked, "Do you know why I'm quitting?"

Giles chose not to comment on the non sequitur, just shaking his head. "We hadn't got that far before you fell asleep."

Xander's voice was quiet, and hollow-sounding, and he was looking at a point just past Giles' shoulder as he talked. "I'm tired of feeling nothing. I just… I can't feel anything. Unless I'm thinking about Anya, or…" His hand moved, a vague, abortive gesture toward the patch covering his missing eye. "And that's worse. I'm not even twenty-five years old, I shouldn't be feeling like the only thing left for me to do is to lay down and die." When Giles' only response was to nod, he continued, "I just want to feel something that isn't bad." He slid closer to Giles again, not looking at him as he murmured, "Don't push me away. Please?"

No matter what Xander was asking, he knew he ought to get up and go to bed, even at this early hour. There was nothing wrong with what Xander was requesting; they were both adults, they were both quite alone in the world, and there was nothing wrong with asking or giving comfort. But it would be the height of madness to give in, because he'd forget that this, to Xander, was only about comfort, and for him…

He'd have no one to blame but himself if, when, he was disappointed. 

Then again, he thought, he would have no one to blame but himself, and he'd blamed himself for enough over the past fifty years that the feeling wouldn't be a new one. He wouldn't blame Xander, and he knew how to keep his thoughts private, and so as far as Xander was concerned, the situation would be precisely as he thought it would. 

And perhaps it wouldn't hurt to allow himself to have something that he wanted, for the first time in quite a long while. 

"I won't," he answered, softly, and now Xander turned to look up at him. "I have no intention of pushing you away." 

Xander smiled then--it was faint, and hollow, and could only be called a smile because it wasn't quite pained enough to be a grimace--and nodded. And then the faint smile faded, and Xander closed his eye as Giles moved forward, putting his arms around Xander again--holding onto him tightly, as though Xander would slip away if he had the chance--and kissed him. 

He'd decided that he would keep an emotional distance--tricky, perhaps, with Xander in his arms, but absolutely vital. This would be about comfort, and harmless pleasure, and he wouldn't allow himself to be drawn in too deeply. 

Even as he thought that, he laughed at himself. He had always allowed himself to be drawn in too deeply. He already was, in this case; he already knew that Xander was a weakness, where he was concerned, that Xander mattered--not necessarily more than the others, but differently, and that, even without this to add to it, was foolish. He didn't have that kind of luxury.

Xander's body felt tight and tense, and if he hadn't been clinging to Giles quite so fiercely, Giles would have suspected that Xander didn't want to go through with this. As it was, he'd have to be careful; this wasn't about pushing Xander past any boundaries he wasn't ready to cross. He brought one hand up to the back of Xander's head; Xander needed a haircut, and Giles' fingers twined instinctively in the soft curls at the nape of Xander's neck. 

He kept the kisses soft and slow, and when he let the tip of his tongue trace over Xander's lips, they parted immediately. Xander's mouth tasted faintly sweet--from the soda, he supposed--and Xander sighed just a little as Giles deepened the kiss, tongue slicking against Xander's before tracing along teeth and palate. 

Xander was kissing him back, and Giles thought he could lose himself in this, at least for a while; forget about everything outside this room, everything apart from the intoxicating heat of Xander's mouth. Xander, apparently, didn't quite agree, because he was already undoing the buttons of Giles' shirt; Giles reminded himself that Xander was doing this to escape from his own thoughts for a while, and of course he'd want as much distraction as humanly possible. 

He reached up, covering Xander's hands with his own to hold them still for a moment, and Xander looked up at him. "You're not gonna… Giles, seriously, this is not a day when I can handle a lot of rejection. Or any rejection, really."

"I haven't changed my mind," he said, and watched Xander relax a bit. "But the sofa isn't particularly comfortable, and so I thought we might want to move."

After a moment, Xander nodded. "Uh, you're talking about the bed, right? Because I'm good at completely misinterpreting things, and so I'd hate to get up and invade your bedroom when what you meant was that I'm elbowing you in the side."

"Yes. I'm talking about the bed," he said, and got to his feet. After a moment's consideration, he took Xander's hand and tugged slightly. 

Xander grinned at him--just for a moment, but it was an honest, actual smile. "You, uh. You really want to do this."

"Yes, Xander, I really want to do this." Xander had no idea how much he wanted to do this, and he intended to keep it that way. He didn't want to make Xander feel that he had any unrealistic expectations about what was happening here; he was perfectly content to let this be whatever Xander needed, and leave it at that. 

Perhaps not perfectly content, but he'd manage. 

Xander followed him down the short hallway without protest, standing there just inside Giles' bedroom, rocking on his heels slightly as though uncertain of what to do next. Giles was about to reach for him when Xander seemed to make a decision, and pulled his own shirt off. 

He watched Xander--how could he not?--while he unbuttoned his own shirt, putting it over the back of the chair in the corner and hesitating for a moment. He'd let Xander set the pace for this, he thought. 

Xander wasn't looking directly at him, and he frowned slightly--and then realized that Xander was keeping his head turned so that Giles couldn't quite see his eye patch. He walked over to Xander, putting his arms around Xander's waist and pulling him closer. Xander looked up at him, still keeping his head slightly turned, and Giles let go of him with one arm so that he could gently turn Xander's chin toward him. 

Before Xander could say anything, Giles kissed him again. Xander froze for a moment, and then kissed him back, holding onto Giles tightly. 

"It's all right, Xander," he said, softly, and Xander shook his head. 

"It's not. Nothing is all right…"

"This is," he said, and finally, Xander nodded and took a step back to unbutton his jeans. 

Giles smiled at him, taking off his own shoes and trousers, looking up to realize that Xander was now watching him. More than a little self-conscious, he made himself look at Xander, relieved to see that Xander was grinning at him. 

"Not bad for an old guy," Xander said, sounding more like his old self for a moment. 

"High praise," he said dryly, and was pleased to see that Xander's smile didn't fade. 

And then they seemed to decide at once that they were doing too much talking, because he was tugging Xander, or Xander was tugging him, down onto the bed, and he was kissing Xander again, their bodies pressed tightly together. 

Xander was content, for the moment, to let Giles kiss him; he responded when Giles moved away from his mouth, kissing down Xander's bare chest, and his hands roamed lightly over Giles' back, but he seemed perfectly willing, for now, to let Giles take the lead. 

And Giles was more than willing to do it--to give Xander whatever he needed. Xander had given so much, had lost so much, already, although Giles couldn't quite tell himself that this was just out of some sense of fairness. 

This wasn't about being fair. This was about Xander, and how much Giles had come to care for him over the years. And if the only thing he could do to show it was to give Xander comfort when he needed it, then that was what he'd do. 

He moved farther down the bed, taking the head of Xander's cock into his mouth. Xander's eye opened, and Giles could see the surprise on Xander's face. He looked up. "Is this all right?" 

"What? No. I mean, yes, it's all right. Kind of really incredibly all right." 

He smiled, and went back to what he was doing. It had been a long time since he'd done this, and it had never been his first choice of activity, but he thought this would be easier on Xander, more like something he was used to--he realized, then, that he was making the automatic assumption that Xander had never done anything like this before, but he didn't think he was far wrong--and besides, he wanted to do this. Wanted to give Xander what he wanted: a chance to feel something that wasn't pain. 

He traced around the head of Xander's cock with the tip of this tongue, dipping briefly into the slit and feeling, rather than hearing, Xander whimper softly. He smiled to himself, wrapping his hand around the base of Xander's erection as he began to suck in earnest, sliding his mouth as far as he comfortably could down the length before pulling back again, noting the small involuntary movements of Xander's hips as he tried to follow.

He placed one hand on each of Xander's hips, holding him down to the bed, and tracing his tongue over Xander's balls and up the length of his shaft by way of an apology for the removal of his hand. Xander groaned, and the tension against Giles' hands increased.

Giles lost himself of what he was doing, smiling to himself when Xander's hands came up to grip his hair, holding him in place but giving him enough freedom to continue with what he was doing. And continue he did; he didn't think he could stop now if he tried--and he knew he didn't want to try. His own cock ached with need, every moan from Xander sending another flash of arousal along his nerve endings.   
And then he felt a hand--larger than his own, the palm slightly work-roughened--on him, awkwardly trying to match the rhythm of Giles' mouth--awkwardly, but effectively; Giles was fairly certain some of the moans and gasps he was hearing weren't from Xander. 

And then he felt the tension in Xander's body build, and even with his hands on Xander's hips, Xander lifted off the bed, trying to thrust more deeply into Giles' mouth. Giles had to pause, briefly, but then continued, not slowing the pace even when the movement of Xander's hand faltered.

Xander was surprisingly quiet as he came, his eye shut tightly, and Giles was afraid, for a moment, that when it finally came down to it, they had gone too far for Xander to be able to cope--but when he looked up, finally, Xander gave him a shaky smile and then leaned in to kiss him as his hand began to move on Giles' erection again. 

With the taste of Xander still on his tongue, it didn't take Giles terribly long at all to reach the edge, closing his own eyes and tipping his head back. He could hear himself talking, though it didn't sound terribly coherent, and for the moment, he was too focused on what Xander was doing to him to care precisely what he was saying. 

Until Xander pulled away.

Giles looked up at him, and the wary, tightly guarded look in Xander's eye was like a bucket of ice-water being dumped on him. "What is it?"

"Don't," Xander said, voice shaking as he looked back down at the blankets. "Look, I know how it is, you're a guy, you say stuff you don't mean because you think it's what the other person wants to hear right now, right? But don't say that. Please. Not to make me feel better, because it won't."

"What did I--" and then he recalled what he had said, in amongst the "please don't stop" and "faster" and "so good"--"God, I love you…" 

Which had, apparently, been a ghastly mistake. 

"Will it help," he said quietly, "to know that I wasn't saying it to make you feel better, or because I thought it was what you wanted to hear?"

"Huh?" 

He wished Xander would look at him--but perhaps it was better this way, not really being able to see how much Xander hadn't wanted to hear that. "I didn't say it because you wanted to hear it. I'm quite certain that was the last thing you wanted or needed to hear."

"Yeah. Right. I'm supposed to believe that you love me. You used to be a way better liar, you know."

"I'm not lying, Xander. I…" He shook his head. "I hadn't meant to tell you; I know you have quite enough to worry about without…."

"Without something that could make it better? Great logic you have going there."

"It wasn't--what?"

Xander shrugged. "Why do you think I came here? To quit, yeah, but…I don't know what you think of me, but I don't just go around trying to seduce random middle-aged British guys."

After a very stunned moment, Giles smiled, very slightly. "It seems I've been a fool."

Now Xander did look at him again, giving him an equally faint smile in return. "So does that mean I get to call you an idiot now?"

"Very probably." Still watching Xander cautiously, he said, "I did mean it."

"Yeah?" Xander's voice sounded rather small and uncertain, but he nodded. "Me, too, you know."

There were at least a dozen questions in Giles' mind, starting with "How long--?" and "Why--?" and "What now?"; he hardly knew where to begin, and he imagined Xander had just as many questions on his own mind. "I think we have rather a lot to talk about," he said.

"Yeah. Only… can we do it later? I was tired before all of this…." Slowly, as though waiting for Giles to stop him, he shifted a bit closer to Giles on the bed. Giles reached out for him, and was quite irrationally pleased when Xander laid his head on Giles' shoulder. 

"I think it can keep until then," he agreed. 

There was a long silence before, a trifle indistinctly, Xander murmured, "Still not going back to Africa."

"I don't particularly want you to, as it happens."

"Good," Xander mumbled into his shoulder, and then all Giles could hear was the quiet sound of Xander's snoring.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
